


Bad

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [87]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reunion, old boyfriend, red nose day tom - Freeform, red nose day tom hiddleston - Freeform, the red nose diaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15007454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: A reunion celebration brings Carmen face to face with an old love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Kind of Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653450) by [missdibley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley). 



> I wanted to hold out on posting until I was finished with the story but I thought I'd at least post the first half as a chapter as I continue to wrestle with the second half.

Carmen stood fidgeting at the edge of the party, playing with the badge that hung from a lanyard around her neck. The badge kept twisting, showing its backside, and it annoyed her that she couldn’t get it to stop.

This remote alumni weekend party, a satellite of the main event that was being celebrated in Chicago, had been Carmen’s idea. As board president of the London chapter of the alumni club to which Carmen belonged, Francine Tan had co-opted the idea for herself when she had volunteered to host it at her penthouse. It was her apartment building, therefore it was now her event. A fancy address in a newly upscale (if not exactly posh neighborhood) south of the Thames with views of, well, everything. St. Paul’s, the Tate Modern, the Shard _and_ the Gherkin, and the river itself, of course.

Carmen stood, admiring the vista, and was two bites into a miniature spinach quiche when Francine approached with a smug look on her face.

“Thank you for the use of this space,” Carmen said dutifully, after she swallowed a bit too quickly. “The view is spectacular.”

“This is the  _ exact _ view from my own penthouse,” Francine preened. “You’re in Hampstead, right?”

Carmen nodded. “Yes, ever since I moved here.”

“Any chance we’ll finally get to meet your, erm, your Tom tonight?” Francine asked, a touch too casually.

Carmen did her best to look apologetic. “I don’t think so. He’s getting ready to go out of town next week, so he’s pretty busy.”

“A shame,” Francine said with a pout. “I really would love it if he could host an event. Maybe turn up for one of our fundraisers.”

“But he didn’t even go to…” Carmen began to say, stopping when Francine waved her hand dismissively.

“Well, perhaps you can talk to him once you’ve wed.” Francine gave Carmen’s left hand, and the diamond that sparkled on her ring finger, a sharp glance. She tipped her glass to her mouth, draining it of what little wine was left. “Look at that. I need a refill. Back in a minute. I want to talk to you about our social engagement numbers.”

Carmen, of course, dearly wished that Francine would not return. And while she was used to Francine’s barbs, Carmen could still use a break from the party. She would cool off, then go back and be lively and gracious. Helping herself to some Pimm’s Cup from an obliging waiter, Carmen stepped out onto the large terrace to admire the view.

Outside it was hot and humid, enough so that she had the place to herself while others remained inside the air conditioned party space. A cool breeze appeared suddenly, caressing her knees and making flutter the hem of her dress.

She liked to look at the river, committing to memory the light reflected and glittering on the water’s surface. People walking on the south bank, and cars flowing over bridges. It reminded her of home, of riding the 135 north on along the lakefront after a long day. Anticipating the dip when the bus would dive from Upper Wacker Drive down to its lower counterpart, and then pop up again to emerge on Lake Shore Drive. The Ferris wheel on her right, Oak Street beach just ahead. Joggers and bikers, lifeguards and swimmers.

Through the plate glass windows that enclosed the room, the party appeared to her to be an aquarium. Only instead of exotic and tranquil fish it was full of the myriad people affiliated with the university. Old white haired men in tailored suits, red in the face after too much time in the sun. Recent MFA’s who burnished their artist’s reputations with asymmetrical haircuts and androgynous clothes. Her favorites were the academics, fresh off the train from Oxford and Cambridge, who wore patched corduroy jackets and khaki trousers with Teva sandals, and the finance bro types who never tried to stop recruiting the academics to work for their hedge funds. All of them milling about as they reminisced and networked, the laminated badges and wine glasses catching the light.

Carmen paused when she noticed a figure that was still, not moving with the crowd inside. She thought nothing of it, and then the figure raised an arm as if to wave. Before she could wave back, the figure inside moved to the door and exited out onto the terrace.

Soon enough the figure was revealed to be a man, slight and not much taller than Carmen but his suit was tailored well enough to give him the appearance of more height. He had black hair that he wore was greased back, revealing a dramatic widow’s peak that took Carmen by surprise with its severity. But the beady hazel eyes, heavy five o’ clock shadow, and cleft chin were entirely too familiar.

“I don’t suppose you remember me but…” He began to say.

“No,” Carmen said, shaking her head. “I remember. I just can’t believe it’s you.”

“How are you?” He examined her, eyes narrowed as he took in every detail of her appearance.

“Well…” replied Carmen.

“Well? Is that all you’ve got for me?” Eyebrows arched, the man barked his laugh.

“Yes.” Carmen looked over his shoulder, to the river. Anywhere but at his face.

“Come on, Enid,” he urged. “Be nice.”

She looked at him sharply. “Why?”

“Carmen!”

Startled by the interruption, they both turned in time to see Tom walking toward them. Hair rumpled, he was nonetheless a vision of summer cool in a blue pinstripe suit worn over a crisp linen shirt that looked creamy against the heat induced flush of his neck. Tom’s polished brown shoes assumed a copper hue in the late afternoon sun, complementing his hair and beard. When he caught up to Carmen, and took her hand in his, she felt that she had never been so happy to see someone in her entire life.

“Hello, dear,” Carmen murmured, smiling up at Tom.

“Tom Hiddleston, right?” Jordan offered his hand to shake. “Big fan. Big, big fan.”

“Thanks, man.” Tom smiled.

“Enid and I go way back,” the man said confidently. “All the way back to first year.”

“A classmate!” Tom grinned. “Someone to tell me what she was like when she, well.” He rubbed his chin and grinned. “When she still went by Enid.”

“Oh,” the man nodded. “Right.” He tried to look apologetic. “You’re Carmen now.”

“Sorry, I didn’t get your name, man,” Tom offered.

“That’s because I didn’t say,” the man said. He withdrew a card from within his jacket and held it out to Tom. “Jordan Jemc.” He smiled at Carmen again. “But when Enid and I…” Jordan shook his head, and tried again. “Carmen called me Jordy.”

“Oh?” Tom asked, his face impassive now.

“We were boyfriend and girlfriend in college,” Jordan replied.

“Not all of it,” Carmen was quick to remind him.

“Funny we should meet like this.” Jordan rubbed his chin.

“Oh?” Tom asked.

“Is it?” Carmen asked.

“Yeah. Funny we should meet,” Jordan said again. “What with me being your first, and Tom…” Jordan finally permitted his lips the smirk his voice had been hinting at. “Tom being your last.”

Carmen had no visible reaction, though Tom was aware of a soft, sharp intake of breath. When she breathed out slowly, he felt better but just the same squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“That’s gross, Jordan,” Carmen said flatly.

“Your first love,” Jordan said, smugly. “I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“I was thinking of the last time I saw you,” Carmen replied, hotly. “You had just twisted my arm trying to break into my room. Right before Jeremy Alexander and Sean Walzak showed up and threw your ass out of the dorm.”

“Oh, well,” Jordan’s face was now going red. “I was just so passionate.”

“I remember that, too.” Carmen said quietly. “Right before you screamed at me ‘Enid. You fucking bitch. Let’s get back together.’”

“Carmen,” Tom whispered.

“Enid…” Jordan whined.

“What.”

“I never said that.”

Carmen shook her head. “I’ve still got a campus police report that says otherwise.”

“Please.”

“You screamed,” Carmen interrupted. “You hurt me. As if fucking my best friend wasn’t enough. As if making me turn down that scholarship to be with you wasn’t enough.”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Jordan said, hotly. “And anyway, I said I was sorry.”

“No, you didn’t,” Carmen said, quickly.

“It’s ancient history,” Jordan retorted.

“I agree, and I would have been happy if you had let it be.” Carmen’s breathing was shallow, which Tom knew could not be attributed to the heat or the humidity that made the air heavy and dense and close. “It could have stayed that way, but then you had to say what you said about being my first.”

“I was just trying to be funny,” Jordan offered, lamely.

“No you weren’t,” Carmen scoffed. “You weren’t nice. And you were only sort of right. About being the first. Because it was more like you were the only guy. The only guy to hit on me at that frat party. The only guy to call me over and over again until I agreed to go out with you. The only guy to guilt me into having sex with him. The only guy to make me feel bad about a scholarship I earned, so bad that I turned it down for him because I thought he actually loved me. The only guy to cheat on me. The only guy to call me a fucking bitch and in the same breath have the actual goddamn nerve to ask me to take him back.”

Carmen took another breath. And while her eyes were wet, she shed no tears. The vision of Jordan in front of her blurred and if she squinted just right she could almost make him disappear. She felt hot, heated in fact, and upset. Angry. Confused. She saw Tom, quiet and reassuring, so solid and so real, standing by her side. And then she felt bad when she saw the look on her beloved’s face. Concerned, but also unsure.

“You look like I need a drink,” she said, rather abruptly.

Tom nodded. “Some water will do us some good.”

Putting his arm around Carmen’s shoulder, Tom paused and looked at Jordan. Looking for a long time, as though he was committing to memory every pore and eyelash, the placement of the man’s features. As if they were ever to meet again in, say, a dark alley. Like Tom was making a careful note of how exactly he would want to rearrange the man’s face with his bare hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen and Tom's exit/escape from the party is not as clean as they would have liked.
> 
> Also there are shenanigans.

Carmen tried.

To focus.

To enjoy the party.

To appreciate Tom being there.

To love him.

But it was hard.

It was hard because she could still feel Jordan’s eyes on her face, sweeping up and down her body. His sour breath on her cheek, the touch of his hand on her arm. This despite being tucked into Tom, snug in his embrace as he walked her back to the party.

Heat. Humidity. History. It all weighed upon her.

Time and distance collapsing, all in a moment.

Carmen felt angry. Weak. Stupid. Flustered. Like a sullen girl.

Like Enid.

The air conditioning chilled the sweat that had gilded her face and neck, trickled down her decollete and veiled the tops of her forearms. And people were looking now, not at her but at Tom because he was tall and handsome and famous. Turning their heads, shifting as the two of them crossed the room. Carmen was used to strangers sneaking glances even as they kept their distance. Pretending that they didn’t notice the two of them when they were out together doing mundane shit like walking the dog or picking up dinner. But this felt conspicuous to her.

Francine was making a beeline for them, shoving a glass of red wine at Carmen so she could extend her hand to Tom. Her arm was angled sharply, so much so that it reached up almost to his face. She frowned when he took the proffered hand but did not kiss it.

“Tom Hiddleston!” Francine didn’t bother trying to sound casual this time. “I am _so_ delighted to make your acquaintance at last.”

Carmen’s snort was soft enough that Tom’s bashful chuckle could conceal it. “And I yours, Ms.…” His eye caught sight of Francine’s nametag. “Ms. Tan, of course.”

“She’s on the board with me,” Carmen said, nudging him gently.

“Board president, if you will,” Francine piped up.

“Well, thank you for the hospitality, Madame President,” said Tom graciously.

“Oh, do call me Francine,” Francine purred. She snapped her fingers at a passing server, but kept her eyes on Tom. “Tom? May I offer you an elderflower pressé?”

Tom shook his head. “Carmen is feeling poorly, and I must spirit her away.”

“But you just got here, didn’t you?” Francine fingered the string of heavy gray pearls that hung around her neck as she pouted. “A shame.”.

“It’s the humidity,” Carmen offered. “Gives me headaches.”

Francine flapped her hand. “Why don’t I get you a Pimm’s cup, hmm? Nice and refreshing, just the thing to sort you right out while Tom and I have a nice chat.”

“Another time, perhaps?” Tom smiled sweetly. “Carmen has had nothing but wonderful thing to say about the volunteer work the club has been doing.”

“Yes, it has been _so_ rewarding, and I was hoping you might…” Francine stopped talking, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of someone over Tom’s shoulder. “Jordan! Why don’t you join us?”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Tom said, grimacing as he began to steer Carmen away.

“Leaving so soon?” Jordan’s voice was smooth to Francine’s ears, so of course it was smarmy and slick to Carmen and Tom. “Francine, Carmen and I were just having our own reunion out on the terrace.”

“Oh?” Francine gave Carmen a knowing look. “Carmen, I didn't know you knew Jordan here.”

“We were classmates,” Carmen said dully.

“We used to be an item,” Jordan insisted.

“How precious! Carmen, why didn’t you say?” Francine simpered. “Jordan just joined my husband’s firm. New York office, though, and he’s in town for some banking thing so of course I asked Gerald to bring him along tonight.”

“We’ll leave you to catch up, then.” Tom said, noting a flush rising in Carmen’s cheeks.

“I’m enjoying this city so much, I was just saying to Gerald I might relocate here,” Jordan said, shrugging. “For the summer…”

“What?” Carmen froze.

“Oh that would be wonderful!” Francine clapped her hands. “Think of what he could do for the board!”

“No,” Tom said, abruptly. When he looked at Carmen’s face, which was beginning to flush again, he shook his head.

“Pardon?” Jordan asked, a sneer teasing his lips apart.

“I don’t want you anywhere near her,” said Tom.

“Carmen!” Francine gasped. “What is going on?”

“You heard him.” Carmen shook her head. “Francine, if Jordan joins the board, I’m quitting.”

“What?” Francine sniffed. “Is this about your history with him?”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Carmen said, drawing herself up.

“Be a sport, huh, Enid?” Jordan waved his hand dismissively. “What’s the matter? You still not over me?”

It occurred to Tom that perhaps this was Jordan’s terrible idea of joke, an ill-timed attempt, however inadequate and inappropriate, to lighten the mood. But he didn’t care. Not when he could feel Carmen go rigid at his side. Not when he remembered the ugly look on Jordan’s face from their encounter on the terrace. Almost on its own, Tom’s arm went stiff as he formed a tight fist with his right hand. But before he got a chance to draw his arm back and hit Jordan, Carmen took Francine’s red wine and flung it, glass and all, right in Jordan’s face.

Jordan could only stand there, gasping and sputtering, a sort of choking noise escaping from his throat while he fumbled for his handkerchief, and tried to blink the wine out of his eyes. When Tom gently pulled Carmen back, this seemed to upset Jordan. He reached out, grabbing for Carmen’s arm, only to have Tom intercept him by taking and twisting his wrist out to his side. Tom finally let go when a waiter arrived with club soda and white napkins to help Jordan clean himself up.

Francine, who had taken a step back from Jordan, looked softer when she saw Tom tending to Carmen. When she saw him examining Carmen’s hand, she waved her hand in the direction of the elevator bank. “Why don’t you two go to my flat. Any loo should have a first aid kit. 35M,” she said. “Thirty fifth floor, it’ll be the door at the end of the hall to your right.”

Tom escorted Carmen to the lift, his hand holding her hand carefully under his jacket, keeping it elevated and pressed to his heart. His head was down, careful to avoid drawing more attention to themselves, and so he waited until they were alone before he drew her into his arms again.

Francine’s penthouse was a soft, silent temple to minimalism. White suede couches were flanked by chrome lamps and antique Buddhas covered in flaky gold leaf. Every piece of furniture chosen to impart luxury even while they gave precedence to the most expensive feature in the apartment — the expansive 360° view of the city. When the late afternoon sun shone in, the flat seemed to glow.

Every door handle and latch was recessed, so it took some doing to get into a small corner to claim for themselves. A small lounge, with an en-suite where Tom could examine Carmen. He found a small cut at the base of her ring finger, just in the crease between it and her palm.

He carefully removed her aquamarine ring, cooing apologies when the air made the cut sting. Pushing the ring up onto his own pinky finger, Tom removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves before holding her hand gently under a stream of cool water from the faucet. No bandage was required, just a swipe of alcohol and a square of gauze from the first aid kit she found in the cupboard.

He moved them to the lounge, settling them both on a low-slung sofa. The only comfortable way for them to sit was for Carmen to tuck her legs underneath, and Tom’s legs sticking out in front of him. He insisted she keep her hand elevated, bringing it to rest on the left side of his neck. And while he had her, he ran his own hands up and down her forearm even though Jordan had not touched her. When he returned her ring, he slid it down her left ring finger where it nestled, just so, next to her engagement ring. Tom admired the sight of the two stones twinkling, side by side, then nuzzled the back of her hand.

Seeming to remember that there was room behind her to recline, Carmen did so. Tom scooted back, taking her legs to lay them across his lap. She looked out the window, and he looked at her.

 _She’s wearing one of my favorite dresses_ , Tom thought to himself, smiling at the way her filmy white skirt just brushed the tops of her knees. He folded himself over to kiss them, noting with pleasure the appearance of a few freckles. Lingering there, lips pressed to warm skin, Tom laughed softly.

“What?” Carmen asked. When he sat up, Tom found her squinting at him.

“I was just thinking you’re wearing one of my favorite dresses,” Tom said, his eyes shining.

“This one?” Carmen peeked down at herself. “It’s kind of girly, you know? Maybe too pretty for what is essentially a glorified networking event.”

“It isn’t too girly.” Tom began to trace on her left kneecap: the letter T, followed by a heart, then a C he embellished with a flourish.

“So what was so funny about it?”

“It’s funny to think this is my favorite dress of yours when I like them all.” Tom shrugged. “They’re all my favorite.”

“You’re a sap,” Carmen declared.

“Guilty,” replied Tom without a shred of remorse. And then: “Jordan?”

Carmen’s bottom lip immediately pushed out. She furrowed her brow. “Do we have to talk about it?”

“No,” said Tom.

“Good.”

“But I think we should.”

Carmen sighed.

“Button…” Tom sighed back.

“What?”

Tom wrinkled his nose. “I can’t believe you used to call _that_ Jordy”

Carme smirked. “Stop.”

“Jordy Jemc,” Tom said. “It trips off the tongue.”

“We can’t all have nice names like Thomas William Hiddleston,” Carmen pointed out.

“Or Carmen Paloma DiGregorio, for that matter.”

“Well, I had to change mine.” Carmen wrinkled her nose. “I was Enid before…” Her voice trailed off into a huff. “So why are we still talking about him anyway?”’

“Would you rather we didn’t?”

“Yes,” she said tartly.

Tom shook his head. “We can’t just ignore what happened.”

“And why not?” Carmen threw her hands up in the air. “We’re here. He’s up there. He has nothing to do with us.”

“Except he’s moving here, he said,” Tom reminded her.

“I honestly think he was making that up just to fuck with me.”

“Yeah?”

Carmen nodded. “Yeah.”

“Dick.”

“Yeah,” Carmen breathed. “I know.”

Pushing herself up, she clasped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him in. Now hovering over her, Tom kissed around her lips while she huffed at him in frustration but did not yield completely. He held himself up, hands now planted on either side of her head.

“Why won’t you…” She squirmed below him. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“I want to know what’s going on up there,” Tom said.

“The party?” Carmen flicked her tongue out at him, catching his bottom lip with a swipe. “Cocktails and canapés.”

“I meant what was going on in your head, Car,” Tom whispered.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I think we should.”

“You already said that.”

“It’s because I meant it,” Tom replied.

“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ do you not understand?”

“The part where you said ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ because what you actually meant was ‘I’m going to be a bitch to you for no reason until you drop it.’”

“Fuck off.”

“You can’t even deny it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Believe me, Button,” Tom said evenly. “You will.”

Carmen blinked up at him, eyes wide and dark. Curious.

“Promise?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

“I’m gonna make you work for it,” Carmen pledged.

Tom sat up, removing his jacket so he could toss it over the back of the sofa upon which Carmen still lay. Hands now resting on the tops of his thighs, he sat and considered the sight of her laid out before him.

This was nothing new. Sex as healing and connection. The two of them coming together with a kind of ferocity that didn’t just exclude the world but dismantle it. A quick fuck on a £10,000 sofa wasn’t going to be enough to destroy Jordan in either of their minds.

So this wasn’t going to be just a quick fuck on a £10,000 sofa.

“Look at me,” Tom commanded.

Carmen obeyed, but said nothing. When a tiny smile began to tug up the right side of her mouth, Tom gently slapped her bare thigh. Leaving his hand there, he stroked the spot where he struck her, gently, to soothe it. Let his hand slip down to grasp just behind her knee, lift it gently then set it so her legs were spread wider, and her left foot was planted on the floor.

Her skirt had ridden up, revealing that Carmen had chosen a pair of light coffee colored knickers edged in satin. They were lace, and so Tom could make out the faintest shadow of pubic hair through the fabric. And all of a sudden his mouth watered. He took her right leg and hooked it over the back of the sofa.

When Carmen moaned softly, he kissed the inside of her knee before nipping at her thigh. His hands scouted ahead, easing up to knead the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Fingertips teased at the crease between leg and hip, palpated along while Tom panted and eyed the succulent treasure that lay ahead.

Tom pulled aside the strip of lace, then inhaled. Overwhelmed by the scent of her sweat, her musk, the inner flesh of her cunt, Tom closed his eyes before closing his lips around her folds.

She was sticky and sweet, salty as he probed deeper within. With every gasp of his echoed by a whine from her, Tom was slow as he traced the outer petals and the silken interiors. When he could bear to release her from his mouth and tongue, he nuzzled her thighs so she could enjoy the thrill of his beard as it tickled her.

Two fingers slid in easily, so wet was she, and Tom curled them inside, stroking while his tongue sought out her swollen clit. Her pubic hair tickled his nose and when he laughed there was no relief for her — he could laugh and lap at the same time, toying with the nub with his supple tongue..

He kept her on the edge, on the precipice of release. Francine could have led a conga line right by and Tom would have remained unconcerned about anything beyond bringing pleasure to the woman who lay writhing before him. Enid as a girl may have been under the thrall of an undeserving creep, but Carmen was his. She loved Tom. There was nothing to fear, and nothing to be ashamed of, not anymore. Not even awful exes like manipulative, cheating college boyfriends or exploitative pop stars.

Carmen was on the verge of coming, she wanted to come so bad, but Tom wouldn’t let her. When Tom pushed himself up, replaced his tongue with the fingers of one hand while the other hand pulled at the straps of her dress, Carmen whined.

“Button,” he growled, then began to suck at her right breast. The same heat, the same sweet and salty flesh, and now he had two sensitive, taut points at which to tease her. Tom took her nipple in his teeth, only for a moment, before licking and sucking the sting away. His fingers stroked her clit, curled inside of her, flit over her anus. And all the while Carmen squirmed, chasing after his hands and his tongue with every roll of her hip and arch of her back, but he continued to deny her.

But he could only do so for so long. Tom was aware of sweat coursing down his back, and the erection that was about to burst through his trousers. He launched himself up, kissing Carmen hard while his body moved against her. Tom didn’t waste breath on something so stupid as breathing — who wanted air when there were kisses.

“Off off off,” he moaned, and Carmen helped him. Tom pivoted his hips while she ripped at the front of his trousers. His cock fell out, heavy and hard and dark, it’s tip slick with pre-cum that got smeared into her skirt. He stood up on one foot, then grabbed Carmen around the hips and flipped her over. Now lying on her belly, she lifted her ass in the air. Tom yanked her panties down to her knees before grabbing her hips. Digging his nails into the soft flesh, he thrust his cock between her thighs. Just underneath her sex, where it was wet but not so much that when he pumped in there wasn’t the delicious friction of her skin to greet his cock. Tom grunted in time with each pump, roughly pulling her ass into him with every move of his own hips to her.

“Tell me,” he growled. “Tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” she moaned.

“You love it when I fuck you like this,” he growled again. When she could only whimper, he slapped her left ass cheek hard but kept fucking her thighs. “Tell me.”

“I…” Carmen gasped. “I love it when you fuck me like this.”

“Good girl,” Tom hissed. “Give me your cunt.”

Tom took himself in hand, found the heated entrance of her sex, and drove in. Carmen cried out, her sobs interspersed with barely intelligible words — _Yes oh fuck yes yes yes fuck god harder harder harder come oh god harder inside me_ — that wove in and out with the sounds that barely escaped his own lips.

Carmen was pushing back, meeting every one of this thrusts and the only sound now in the room was the wet clash of skin on skin, ass to hip, the gasp of surprise and lust from Carmen when Tom took a handful of her hair and braced himself. It brought her head back, but only a little. Enough to make her throat feel tight, and force her to pant, open-mouthed. She could barely speak, but she had enough words to say, to sob, “I’m gonna… oh god… yes… yes… oh god fuck…”

When he felt her coming, even as he continued to pound away, Tom thought he might lose his mind. She was so snug and tight and hot, so fucking wet. He felt the rush and the strength of her blood as it coursed through her, made her body pulse, but that final clench as she climaxed knocked everything out of Tom. He had only three more thrusts before, ragged and limp, he arched over her body and came inside her. He could only twitch, every spasm feeling like a drain upon him so he could fill her up with his cum. But every spurt, every release of his seed, eased him back into himself. That cool room. The silence. The stillness.

Tom pressed his lips to the nape of her neck and, when he felt her heart beating in time with his, he smiled.

* * *

“Do you think Francine knows we did something in there?”

Home. Carmen and Tom, freshly showered and both of them wearing ancient pieces from his Eton and Cambridge rugby kits because it was laundry day but neither of them was about to do laundry and Tom wore everything until they collapsed into dust, lay on the sofa. Bobby lay curled up between his humans’ feet, snuffling happily when they rubbed his belly softly with their bare toes. On the coffee table was a stack of takeout menus, and _Nailed It!_ played silently on the television.

“Maybe,” Carmen replied. “It did kinda smell like sex when we left. Unless somebody else got in there and fucked in that same exact spot before she finally came down from the party?”

“Oh dear…” Tom grimaced.

“Whatever, dude,” Carmen scoffed. “I’m sure if we could have found the switch for her air conditioning, we could have aired it out.”

“There’s still the matter of the stains.” Tom arched an eyebrow at her.

“What stains?” Carmen looked at Tom in alarm.

“The puddle on her sofa, love.”

“The one that still had the price tag on it?!” Carmen snorted.

“Maybe she was planning to return it.”

“Bloody unlikely now,” she mused. “With your semen dried into it.”

“My semen?!” Tom shook his head. “You were lying on the stupid thing.”

“Because you were on top of me, jerk.”

Tom felt his cheeks warm, but managed to say “Well, how else was I supposed to…”

Carmen poked him in the chest, her dark eyes mirthful as she interrupted him. “And then you came, and then we hauled ass out of there because, you know, having just _shagged_ in somebody’s apartment, and some of it might have spilled out while we were scrambling.”

“So it was your fault!” Tom cried.

“No, Cambridge, you just came and it was like _too much_ because of course you’re an overachiever that way and now whoever sits on that spot is…” Her eyes went wide.

“Imagine,” Tom murmured, dreamily. “Impregnated by a sofa.”

Carmen cackled, then kissed the base of Tom’s throat. “Thank you, love.”

Tom blinked at her slowly. “For what?”

“The, you know, the fuck.”

“Oh Button,” he sighed. “I hope you feel better.”

“I do now,” she smiled. “And so I thought you deserved something.”

“Like a present?” When Carmen nodded, he beamed. “I reckon I should shag you like that more often.”

“I wouldn’t object,” Carmen said.

“So what’s my present?”

“I… I thought.” She cleared her throat. “I was thinking, in the car on the way home, whenever we get married, that I would take your name.”

“Oh love.” Tom scooted down so he could press his face into her neck. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she said. “I think it would sound nice.”

“Carmen DiGregorio-Hiddleston,” Tom pronounced carefully.

“No double-barreled name for me.” Carmen shook her head. “I’ll keep my middle name, add my maiden name to it. But Carmen Hiddleston,” she corrected.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. “Carmen Hiddleston.”

“Mrs. Tom Hiddleston,” Carmen said. “Oh god, that does sound nice.”

“I love it,” Tom said.

“Great, so I guess that means I don’t have to get you a real wedding present,” Carmen mused.

“Minx…” Tom growled, nipping at her jaw.

“Unless you’d like a white suede sofa that is only minimally stained?” Carmen smirked. “I bet Francine would cut me a sweet deal.”

“Shut. Up.” Tom growled.

Carmen peered at Tom, observing how boyish and sweet he looked in her arms. She kissed the tip of his nose.

“Make.” She kissed it again. “Me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I always knew Carmen would choose to change her name. And believe me, she's going to be as discreetly obnoxious about it. There may or may not be a very preppy canvas tote monogrammed with "CDH" in Carmen's LL Bean web site shopping cart right now. :)


End file.
